The Rugged Edge

Chapter 1: The Painting in the Hall

I see the look upon her face,
remains of times long past.
Smiles as if she knew something
I can no longer grasp.
I wish I'd known her face to face,
but all that's left of her
is fairest painting in the hall,
of parchment, brush, and fern.

. . . . .

I lay in bed listening to the chattering of the birds outside my window. They seemed to be speaking softly to me.

"Morning has come! See the brilliant sun, see the bluest of skies."

I decided to take their advice and get up, although it was barely dawn.

I slipped on an elegant violet dress and stepped into my new slippers. I brushed my long, blond hair back and did it up in a single, messy braid. I knew that my step-father wouldn't approve, but I really didn't care. I was up too early to call Nicole, the maid, anyway. Besides, Collum couldn't afford to pay her.

So, after getting ready for the day, I walked "princess like" down the stairs to the dining room. No one was there; it was silent as a mouse throughout the halls. I went into the kitchen, where Bessy was throwing firewood into the grey and cobwebbed stone fireplace. Bessy was the castle cook. And I mean the castle cook; we only had her and the kitchen maid working in the kitchen anymore.

"Good morning, Bessy," I said, startling her.

"Good morning, *Ise, dear!" she said in her sweet way. She was a chubby old lady with grey-white hair and a smile on her face. She was the kind of person you wished would be your grandmother - she was so sweet and kind and homelike. She always had a smile stretched between her cheeks. But that didn't mean she hadn't been through hard things; she had lived sixty-one years and she had seen a lot of melancholy things, along with the lovely and hopeful things. And as long as I had known her - which was as long as I could remember - she'd always called me Ise.

"You're up early," she said.

"Yeah," I answered.

After a little while spent in the kitchens, I left and wandered around, not caring much about where I was headed. This is what I had always done: wandered around, looking around. My days slid by like butter on a dish, but they would never get interesting. I'd learned to memorize each dusty castle corridor, each chilled and uninhabited room. Yet each of those corridors and each of those rooms held only what I'd seen before.

I soon found that my wanderings had led me to the Hall of History, which was just a huge room on the second floor full of large, important paintings hung all over the walls. These were paintings of past rulers of the kingdom. I had investigated each of the thirty-four paintings, reading each inscription so many times that I knew each monarch at a glance.

My feet carried me to a painting close to the big double doors. This one had a golden frame surrounding a beautifully painted portrait of the mysterious Queen Giovanna - my mother. Her golden hair shone and her white skin contrasted perfectly with the dark blue background. She wore a bright blue dress with frills around the collar and sleeves, and she held a fan with her left hand. She wore an extravagant, diamond-embedded golden tiara that rested on her yellow curls. She seemed like the perfect monarch; one that seemed just like her heart was set on power, land, and money. And I had been told that she was just so.

But the thing was, no matter how many times I'd tried seeing my own mother like that, I couldn't believe it. I just couldn't see a smile of victory set on the lips of that frequently-studied painting. No, her smile seemed sad... not real. Not sincere. It seemed forced and upset.

But I must have been getting as insane as my step father. No one could tell who anyone was by a smile on a painting.

I jumped as one of the two castle servants stepped into the room and said:

"Princess Eloise?"

I spun around, relaxed in seeing it was only Fabian, and said, "Yes?"

"His Majesty demands your presence at the breakfast table."

Of course. Every day, he did.

The king was concentrated fully on his own power and gaining more. Years ago, he spent the few castle coins there were on buying himself a summer home, to make himself look good and all. But once the money was spent, there was none left and he realized his mistake up front. So he began demanding taxes - excessive taxes that he didn't need to steal from the people. But that's what he did. And now the people were poorer than Collum himself.

The kingdom used to be one of joy, of peace, and of color. The markets had been rich with one of a kind treasures, with fiddlers playing on the street corners, people dancing to the upbeat tune, and everyone overall... happy. The fields had been bright green oceans of wealth, providing the kingdom with good food and trading resources. And it was this beautiful until the people couldn't pay other people to work their lands and the great fields became smaller and closer to families' homes.

But the kingdom had once been a beautiful place to live. At least that's what Bessy told me. I was four when the castle turned grey and the music faded away to a mere memory; when the market tables turned from bright orange and green to empty; when the fields shrank to minute gardens to provide for small families.

As soon as I was old enough to understand this, I decided I hated having such a truth in my life. I asked Bessy why my mother married Collum.

"Because she thought she couldn't rule alone," she said. "And that you needed someone to protect you."

Note:

*Ise is pronounced "ease", since it is taken directly from the end of the name Eloise (pronounced el-ow-EEZ).